


Head down til the work is done

by flyingisabetterwordforfalling (FlyingFalling)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (Guardian) Angels, Angel Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Les Amis de l'ABC, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Enjoltaire Week 2016, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Reincarnation, exr week 2016, theme: divine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 22:07:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7139372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingFalling/pseuds/flyingisabetterwordforfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He remembered. For some time Grantaire had tried to reproduce these mental pictures as drawings, had once been taken to a mental hospital as a child because he could not stop drawing semi-realistic drawings of people, lives long gone, forgotten by history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head down til the work is done

_Head in the dust, feet in the fire_  
_Labor on that midnight wire_  
_Listening for that angel choir_  
_You got nowhere to run_  
  
_You wanna take a drink of that promise land_  
_You gotta wipe the dirt off of your hands_  
_Careful son, you got dreamer's plans_  
_But it gets hard to stand_

 

Images of bygone times flickered before his eyes whenever he closed them for a while. Whenever he went to sleep, from his early childhood on, ever since he could remember. Again and again, in June, every year, only in June he remembered all this as vividly as he did, it did not matter when it started to happen or how old he was at the time. He remembered. For some time Grantaire had tried to reproduce these mental pictures as drawings, had once been taken to a mental hospital as a child because he could not stop drawing semi-realistic drawings of people, lives long gone, forgotten by history. Even now, in yet another life each time even attempting to draw ended in a sea of red, he almost hated drawing, his art, by now.

 

How did he even know that all this had happened a very long time ago? He had been there himself. Or at least a being that once had been nothing more than just him, a person that somehow still remembered. Previously, before he met him, he had not seen a single man with as much love for others, as the other said his equals, as him.

 

Whenever he tried to remember this one particular celestial being in human form, his golden hair, all other memories came back to haunt him, the sharp contrast of unearthly grace and the blood of mortals, strenght willingly given in exchange for the mere chance of success. As much as he tried to drown them in spirit, they came back again and again.

 

Grantaire had not understood the man, whose name barely concealed his origin. Indeed, could not even understand him or his motives now. They all had accepted to die for all the people around them, expect one. According to the poet and romantic of their group, it was in their fates to share a connection of which they had never even talked about before then. However he did, sensed it as well. Nevertheless Grantaire was one of the few who were born into a human family, grew up with the people around him, as a mere human. He had parents, a sister, before being aware of his true nature. Most of the others, including their leader had descended to earth, never known what humans were actually capable off -or not for that matter- and worse did not understand the whole spectrum of human nature. Still, born as a human, Grantaire was not allowed to die as such.

 

Hours later, after their failure, he came to himself, blinking against the brightness of another morning, another day the others had longed to see. A cold hand lay beside his on the floor. They had to have been put side by side, in assumption that he belonged to the other man and his failed revolution. Grantaire had not been able to look away, or simply turn his gaze away from the man's chest, punctured by bullets. Even in death, he was noble, would still glare at him for comparing him to a nobleman, seemed out of place, his face above natural or rather human beauty.

Decades, almost centuries later, he still remembered the smile on the slowly paling lips. Deprived of any task he had hitherto Grantaire wandered around the city, in the assumption of being alone.

 

Yet he found another person, another survivor, vowed to himself to look after him. Until his death, he watched over the only human of their group, the only other survivor. Just as every human's, his life was over way too soon. But he fell asleep peacefully, as well as his wife. From then on Grantaire was again alone.

 

For centuries he saw an angel's face in every blond youth, avoiding publically insurrections and learned to endure the agony of his memories. In all that time he saw occasional familiar faces, attempted over and over again to keep them away from each other.

Still, he never succeeded, because as Jehan Prouvaire had once predicted, their fates were inextricably linked to one another. Thus they died, again and again.

Sometimes he joined them, knowing in advance how it ended, how it could only end for them. As it had all the times before.

 

From time to time Grantaire was not fast enough, and their leader, who refused to take this title as his own in each of his lives, died alone. Always the last one to die -after the deaths of the others, his companions, his friends- forced to witness his failure. Grantaire had seen his face just recently on television, he now and once again led a group of students, fought for equal educational rights for all. In a country where women were not even allowed to attend school. By now Grantaire had internalized what was about to happen, knew how much time he still had to be just in time and went on his way. This time the blonde would not die alone ... it was his duty to be with him, to take his hand and lead him out of this life. Grantaire felt the reverberation of his fall, even though it had happened so very long ago.

 

After all, he denied his actual purpose, and took the role of a guardian angel, refused to be a soldier, did not want to protect whilst using violence and chaos, his true powers. His determination had yet caught up with him again and again, he could not save anyone, just be there once Death took their spirits along. As an Angel of Death he did not even had the right to save lives, not even his own, and thus he gave it time and time again, no matter how often he woke up after his deaths. No matter how many times he woke up, oppened his eyes next to him, his lifeless body.

 

_Quiet now, you're gonna wake the beast_  
_Hide your soul out of his reach_  
_Shiver to that broken beat_  
_Dark into the heat_  
  
_Soldier keep on marchin' on_  
_Head down til the work is done_  
_Waiting on that morning sun_  
_Soldier keep on marchin' on_

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title as well as the lyrics were taken from the song 'Soldier' by Fleurie. -Thanks for reading my little contribution to exr week 2016. :)


End file.
